


Returned

by FoundlingMother



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, BAMF Frigga (Marvel), BAMF Loki (Marvel), Bodyswap, Casket of Ancient Winters, Don’t copy to another site, False Identity, Family Secrets, Fantastic Racism, Hurt Thor (Marvel), Incest, Jealous Thor (Marvel), Jotunn Loki (Marvel), M/M, Manipulative Relationship, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, Pre-Thor (2011), Prophetic Visions, Protective Thor (Marvel), Rape/Non-con Elements, Revenge, Sibling Incest, Stolen Identity, Visions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-09-24 06:36:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20354017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoundlingMother/pseuds/FoundlingMother
Summary: "'Loki.' Thor grips Loki’s shoulder. Loki half turns in his seat, eyes landing on Thor’s exposed torso.The gashes across Thor’s chest are a faded red but remain prominent. They do not diminish Thor’s physique. Loki’s thoughts stutter. He raises a hand, tracing the jagged edges of the healing flesh of Thor’s pectoral, refusing to acknowledge the heat pooling within, low in the stomach."'You are a powerful seiðmaðr,' Thor rumbles."He watches Loki intently."Horror sinks into the pit of Loki’s gut."Loki withdraws his hand, willing himself not to blush. 'I am. What of it?' he snaps. He braces for Thor’s scorn. And, perhaps, for Thor’s disgust."'Teach me.'"





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wary of some of the tags, read the end notes for a little clarification.

Loki brushes damp hair from his face. He shoves his foot into his boot, finishing redressing.

Several sets of eyes, pale and bright reflecting the sun’s light, watch Loki from beneath the ocean’s surface. He offers the Fiskálfar a tight smile, attempting to convey gratitude for their assistance.

Loki rises. He passes a hand over his sack full of luminescent coral, watching it shimmer green and vanish into a pocket of space.

He stomps his way along the shoreline of the atoll. Sand kicks up in his wake. Swimming in the refreshing waters of Alfheim did not lessen Loki’s bitterness.

He pictures Thor on Vanaheim, brandishing Mjölnir against the dragon threatening the Western nomads.

_“We’re not hunting game, Loki. We’ll need swords, not seiðr, to defeat this threat. Stay home.” Thor squeezed Loki’s neck._

Loki grinds his teeth.

There will be a feast. Einherjar will hoist the beast’s head up before the cheering crowd. Loki will be required to attend and sit beside Thor.

Thor will drunkenly boast and drag a wench into his lap and breath against the shell of Loki’s ear, asking Loki to make his excuses.

Adding insult to injury.

Loki shoves aside his thoughts, focusing on his form.

Feathers break through his skin. His bones shrink and become hollow. He spreads his wings.

Wind catches him up, and he soars toward Alfheim’s mainland.

Loki lands outside a narrow sea cave cut into the steep cliffside, jungle overgrowth spilling over the edge. He sheds his magpie form and crawls into the cavern. Deep within the rock, Loki senses Yggdrasil, its branches stretching between realms—thinning reality.

Loki emerges under Asgard’s evening sky. He starts to pick his way down the mountain.

Reaching the base, he hears hoofbeats. Horse and rider—an Einherjar—burst from the woods. The Einherjar tugs the reigns, bringing the horse to a halt a handful of paces from Loki.

“Your Highness,” he pants, dismounting and crossing the distance between them. After a beat, he remembers to bow.

Loki scrutinizes the Einherjar’s grim expression. “Speak.”

“Your brother, His Highness, Prince Thor—”

“What of him?” Loki snaps.

The Einherjar summons a shaking breath. “The detachment returned from Vanaheim, not an hour past. His Highness was delivered to the healing halls with grave injuries.”

Loki’s heart stutters. “How grave?”

“Lady Sif said His Highness ceased breathing for a time, though—”

Loki shoves past the man, willing suddenly weak legs steady. He feels near dizzy.

He mounts the horse, sparing no thought for the Einherjar, and urges the animal into a gallop, following the golden gleam of Valaskjálf looming ahead.

* * *

Loki strides into the healing halls, stomach twisting.

The halls are quiet, healers methodically carrying out their duties. The handful that meet Loki’s gaze incline their heads in deference.

The door to the private wing is sealed. Loki marches toward it.

“Loki.”

Sigyn rises from her station in an alcove, setting aside her mortar and pestle. She glides closer.

“My brother,” Loki chokes.

“Stable,” Sigyn assures. She folds her hands in front of her. “Scarred, but stable. He will live. He has not woken yet. Queen Frigga sits with him.”

“I will join her,” Loki says, taking another step.

“I’ll join you both in a moment. I’m mixing a poultice for the swelling.”

Loki nods, catching Sigyn’s eyes and revealing his gratitude to her with a look. She mirrors his nod, an acknowledgment. Her robes sweep the floor as she turns.

The door opens a crack as Loki draws near. Eir slips out. She blinks at Loki. “Your mother will be pleased you are here.”

Eir holds the door ajar for Loki to enter, which he does without comment.

Thor’s laid out in the far corner of the room, beneath a wide window. The moon casts Thor in a pale light. Loki can see long, puffy, red marks marring Thor’s neck and shoulder. Frigga fusses with the covers, obscuring the full extent of Thor’s wounds.

“Mother,” Loki whispers.

Frigga glances up. She cried. Loki sees the signs around her eyes.

Grave injuries, indeed, to shatter the Allmother’s composure.

“Loki.” She beckons him to her. He goes.

Frigga embraces him, her arms thrown around his shoulders. “Your brother will be well,” she tells him, words muffled against his collarbone.

“Where’s father?”

Frigga draws back. “He was here. He is now with the council. Sif made no effort to conceal events transpired. The detachment’s return from Vanaheim was a public spectacle. Many common folk saw Thor in critical condition.”

“The Einherjar that notified me said Thor stopped breathing,” Loki recalls, throat tight.

Frigga’s face falls. “Aye, so Sif told us. She said that when she reached Thor he was not breathing. However, he resumed before she had time to react, though his breaths were shallow and uneven. That’s the state he arrived in.”

Loki glances to Thor. His chest rises and falls in a deep, constant rhythm.

The doors open on the other side of the room. Sigyn walks briskly toward them, carrying the promised poultice. “I apologize for disturbing you Your Majesty, Your Highness. I won’t be long.”

“You could not disturb us. Please, do not apologize for helping my son.” Frigga squeezes Loki’s wrist.

Sigyn applies the poultice to the side of Thor’s neck, where the flesh is most furious. She adjusts Thor’s covers and steps back.

“Thank you, Lady Sigyn.” Frigga smiles at the girl.

Sigyn dips in a half-bow. “Is there anything—”

Thor stirs, groan echoing throughout the chamber.

Loki’s heart hammers in his throat.

“I will fetch Eir,” Sigyn says, disappearing back into the main wing of the healing halls.

Thor’s eyes slowly open.

“Brother,” Loki exhales, practically giggling breathily in relief. He’s at Thor’s side in an instant, smoothing stray hairs from Thor’s forehead.

Frigga hovers behind Loki, allowing them a moment.

Thor looks at Loki, expression distant.

“Brother?” Loki prompts, fighting the knot of concern in his breast.

Thor absorbs Loki’s features. He blinks.

“Brother,” he sighs.

Thor’s hand covers Loki’s on the edge of the bed. Loki leans in. He guides Thor’s hand to his neck, selfishly seeking the familiar comfort.

Thor smiles, faint, yet satisfied.

* * *

Thor lays face down in the dirt, limbs rigid.

Sensation returned before muscle control, and, consequently, pain radiates throughout his body.

The burn on his back festers.

He’s aware of sinew knitting itself together. The healing process works leisurely through every wound he sustained.

Thor’s impatient. He grits his teeth and wills his fingers to _move_.

Nothing happens.

He pinches his eyes shut hard, fighting frustrated tears.

The worst is he does not understand why they abandoned him here. He can think of only one reason: Sif and every last Einherjar that followed Thor into battle perished or suffer a slow recovery as he does. Odin dare not send more men to die recovering their corpses.

Thor remembers the dragon. He remembers goading it, eager to test Mjölnir against something worthy.

_Fool._

The voice in Thor’s head speaks in Loki’s accent.

Loki lives. Thor’s certain of that, at least. He discouraged Loki joining the detachment, worried for Loki’s safety. For good reason, it would seem.

The dragon caught him. It bit into Thor’s neck. Its teeth raked across his torso.

He cannot feel those injuries. His back is the focal point for his pain.

Thor doesn’t recall the dragon’s fire breath striking him.

Fatigue weighs heavy against his thoughts. He struggles to remain conscious.

Thor slips, clinging to the knowledge of Loki’s wellbeing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rape/non-con does not occur between Thor and Loki. There's an unlisted character.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts?


	2. Chapter 2

Anxious footsteps echo up and down the corridor outside Loki’s chambers.

Loki squints at his neat pile of documents. He woke before dawn, sleep disturbed, and spent the early hours of the morning pouring over them, doing the work of two princes. Odin insisted Thor rest and recuperate.

The unusual commotion continues. Loki frowns, distracted. He glances toward the entryway.

Silence falls suddenly. Loki tilts his head, straining to hear something, anything. He hears nothing.

He rises. The knot of concern that formed upon learning of Thor’s injury winds itself tightly around his gut, still present after nearly a week.

The hallways of Thor and his shared wing of the palace are deserted. Loki strides in the direction of Thor’s chambers.

He finds the heavy doors ajar. Inside he hears harsh whispers exchanged between two maids.

He enters. The conversation comes to an abrupt halt.

Loki scrutinizes Thor’s rooms, visible through open archways. Thor values openness over privacy. Loki takes two steps further into the sitting room, bringing Thor’s bed into view. Empty. His sheets are rumpled, blankets pooling on the stone floor.

Loki inhales sharply. “My brother escaped,” he concludes.

One servant blinks owlishly at Loki. The other bites her lip, nodding mutely.

“Right.”

Loki marches across the room. He flicks his wrist, and the balcony doors fling aside. Fresh air catches Loki’s sprouting wings.

He soars above Asgard, scanning the city.

Shadows pass over him; Huginn or Muninn. They track Loki’s flight.

Loki studiously ignores them. He spots Thor’s golden-red figure in the center of the recruit training grounds, surrounded by plebes, the sun glinting off his silver breastplate. Loki dives.

He strikes the ground wearing his own features. A recruit walking nearby flinches back, spluttering in shock.

Huginn or Muninn land atop a climbing structure.

Loki tosses a glare upward at the ravens. He resists the urge to remind Odin that, two years shy of the age of majority, he is no longer a child, a statement that would only serve to reinforce the opposite sentiment.

“I am planning no mischief,” he swears instead. Then, because he cannot help himself, he adds, “You have two spies. You could spare one to observe Thor.” Loki gestures in his brother’s direction.

Muninn’s gaze remains steady, but Huginn cocks his head. Loki recognizes Odin’s humoring him and scowls.

“Brother!”

Loki turns his sour expression on his fool brother. Thor notes it, genuine smile quirking, turning cheeky. He shoulders past the crowd of young sycophants. Arms crossed, Loki moves to meet Thor.

“Just what do you believe you are doing?” he snaps.

“Training,” Thor returns, grin spreading. Something wild shines in his blue eyes. Loki suppresses a shudder.

“You had the servants in a panic.”

Thor levels Loki with a knowing look. Loki narrows his eyes. “Apologies,” Thor offers, a hint of sincerity in the word. “I did not intend to upset the household.” He has the decency to offer a sheepish smile.

“Your wounds are not yet fully healed. You should not exert yourself.” Loki prays his tone and glare mask the fretful sentiment.

“I cannot spend another moment in my bed, brother.” Thor whines. “I will go mad.”

“Father expects you hale and hearty in time for the campaign on—”

“I care not about Odin’s expectations,” Thor mutters.

Loki tenses, blinking. He masters himself before a furrow creases his brow. “Father is watching,” he hisses.

Thor blinks. He glances about fruitlessly. Loki sighs and points at the ravens.

Awareness dawns on Thor after a beat. He smiles wide.

“Fear not, father,” Thor calls, “I will not let Loki out of my sights.” He throws an arm around Loki’s shoulders, poorly concealing his resulting wince. He steers Loki into the public baths.

Gently glowing wax candles light the bathing hall. Shy recruits file out, covering their nudity, intimidated by the unexpected arrival of their princes.

Loki perches on a low bench in the newly emptied room. Thor slips into the water, releasing a groan. It resonates. Gooseflesh prickles across Loki's arms.

“When you’re finished, we’ll be returning to Bilskirnir. You can alleviate your boredom by reviewing the requisition order Tyr submitted.” Loki picks at the flesh of his palm.

Thor grunts. Loki senses electricity charging the air, building into a storm. Thor’s attitude rankles. Loki bites his tongue. He requires Thor’s compliance. He cannot initiate a fight.

Several long minutes pass before Thor elects to move. He splashes and scrubs himself. Loki listens, stiff-backed, until the noise subsides.

Thor heaves labored breaths. Loki nearly offers assistance; Thor’s pride be damned.

“I will be expected to do battle against Asgard’s enemies.”

Loki frowns. “Your injuries are temporary, brother.”

Water sloshes as Thor rises. Loki hears the brush of the towel over Thor’s skin.

Thor hums. “I am not strong enough.”

Loki scoffs. “Is that what brought on your foul mood? Thor—”

“Loki.” Thor grips Loki’s shoulder. Loki half turns in his seat, eyes landing on Thor’s exposed torso.

The gashes across Thor’s chest are a faded red but remain prominent. They do not diminish Thor’s physique. Loki’s thoughts stutter. He raises a hand, tracing the jagged edges of the healing flesh of Thor’s pectoral, refusing to acknowledge the heat pooling within, low in the stomach. 

“You are a powerful seiðmaðr,” Thor rumbles.

He watches Loki intently.

Horror sinks into the pit of Loki’s gut.

Loki withdraws his hand, willing himself not to blush. “I am. What of it?” he snaps. He braces for Thor’s scorn. And, perhaps, for Thor’s disgust.

“Teach me.”

Loki’s world tilts off kilter.

His gaze snaps back to Thor’s face. “What?”

Thor slides an arm around Loki’s waist, tugging him upright.

Loki notes a hint of a smirk behind Thor’s serious expression. Unsurprising; he’s half-naked and continues to render Loki speechless.

“Teach me,” Thor repeats.

“Teach you?”

“To harness the storms. To utilize lightning with precision. It is seiðr, is it not?”

“Not quite the same sort,” Loki breathes. “Mother would know better how—”

Thor’s hand cradles Loki’s neck. “I trust you.”

The weight in the words—in Thor’s look—suffocates Loki. Everything feels surreal.

“You said—”

“I am a fool, brother.” Thor’s thumb sweeps along Loki’s cheekbone. He draws Loki in by the grip on his neck. Their foreheads touch. Loki’s knuckles unintentionally graze Thor’s hip. He can smell the soap and bath oils and the freshness of Thor’s newly bathed skin. “I have been one.”

“Thor,” Loki chokes, fear and hope and confusion strangling his voice.

“Have I kept you at a distance, Loki?” Thor’s breath strikes Loki’s lips.

At a distance. In his place. With dismissals and mockery, intentional and unintentional.

But it was not ignorance, cruelty, or apathy. It was disguise. It is easy to accept this new truth. Loki, after all, is familiar with the practice of disguising what's in one's heart.

Elation buzzes beneath Loki’s skin, sensation like the first time he cast an illusion.

Their noses nuzzle.

“No longer,” Thor swears. “Teach me.”

“Aye,” Loki agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *raises eyebrows* Thoughts? Theories? Since I know what's going to happen, I'm terribly interested to see where people in the dark think this is going.
> 
> To incentivize you to speculate, here's a morsel from the next chapter:  
"Thor wakes to footsteps scuffing the ground surrounding him. There are several sets. Some footfalls are heavy, others softer. Thor listens, counting seven altogether.  
"His thumb twitches."
> 
> Also, when Loki references he's two years from the age of majority, that's the literal amount of time. Loki's 998 years old in this. In two years he will be 1000. I'd say developmentally he's on the cusp between 19 and 20.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](https://foundlingmother.tumblr.com/) | [Dreamwidth](https://foundlingmother.dreamwidth.org/)


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